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by Z A Dusk (snakeandmoon)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley's True Form (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Fic, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Reading Aloud, Romance, crowley makes the sand nervous, i never said i was an expert on angelology, playing fast and loose with the categories of angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk
Summary: A star-creating Throne meets a Principality. It's a cosmic meet-cute with implications stretching over millennia.AKA: The one in which Crowley finds where he truly belongs.This is for Ineffablalien, who gave me the lovely prompt "something to do with Crowley, the ocean and stars", and also Book of Love by Peter Gabriel. I put them together and this is what came out!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 154





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [IneffableAlien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/gifts).



The Architect didn’t know what a sigh of relief felt like. But if he did, he would have breathed one when he slipped into his private laboratory. Getting clearance for it had been easy; he needed space to perfect his work, after all. 

If anyone asked him, he wouldn’t know the words to explain why sometimes he wanted to be away from Her, and from his brethren. He hadn’t yet discovered words like “pressure”, “ineffable”, or “scheme.” He only knew that sometimes the other presences around him made him uncomfortable with their subtle but powerful insistence that their way was right and all others wrong.

The Architect knew he wasn’t built for blind obedience. She didn’t make mistakes, though, so surely his tendencies to question, to be curious about all creation, were part of Her plan? He tried not to dwell on it. In truth, he wanted only to swim among the stars and watch them come to life as he placed the spark of creation within them. 

He’d nicknamed this place “the shore”. A ridge of raw firmament, like the stretch of a galaxy, curled around an undulating pool of starstuff. The waves looked like water but felt like starlight, each one glimmering with a millions of brand new stars. They were the mere idea of stars, really, waiting for the Architect to pick out the ones that were ready to be hung in the sky, so he could shape them. All around, as far as the eye could see, was a velvet black night sky, studded with stars and galaxies, nebulae and planets in various stages of creation.

He did his best work here. It was also where he did his best thinking, alone in the dark that was shot through with diamond lights and glittering streaks of teal and lilac. He knew it was wrong, but he felt more connected to the celestial objects around him, than he did to Her. There was something steady about them. A feeling that they could never reject him.

Not that She would. She would never reject one of her creations. Especially not one made to maintain cosmic harmony, and reside forever in the space where material takes form. The Architect felt his burning wheels spin faster, matching the orbiting speed of his latest creation, a pair of binary stars. Joy blazed along each wheel, making him shine brighter until he was reflecting off the restless starry ocean below him.

There were no days yet, but if there had been days, the Architect would have felt he could spend countless of them there, designing new celestial bodies and hanging them in the still-forming universe. Unfortunately, that wasn’t to be, for today he’d been tasked with something completely new: Teaching a Principality. 

He’d heard about them, of course. They were responsible for guarding and teaching those who would exist on this tiny blue and green planet She was planning. Humans, they were going to be called. Rumour had it that Principalities would also have the ability to inspire humans to art, music, or ideas. As a Throne, he was one of the choirs of angels that had dominion over them, and he supposed that was why he’d been tasked with instructing this particular one.

On the matter of what, precisely, he was supposed to teach the Principality, God had been typically vague. _Impart your wisdom_ , She’d said. _Teach him what he needs to know before the earth is built and he takes his place upon it._ Perhaps, thought the Architect, he might like to see where stars were made. The Architect was a little biased, but he could imagine no more beautiful place.

A slight rustle of energy shifting around a celestial being told him that his charge was approaching their meeting place. It already had the semblance of a human form, though it shone brighter than any human could, as if its limbs were made of pure light. The Architect saw a crown upon its head and a sceptre shining in its hand. When it approached, it radiated love and joy and trust, even as it playfully apologised for not even having a name yet. If the Architect could have smiled, he would. Instead, he invited the Principality onto the shore, and gave it the space to explore.

“Don’t be afraid to touch the stars.”

He told the angel.

“You can’t hurt them.”

The Architect patrolled the edge of the shore while the Principality moved into the sea, cradling the new stars gently in its hands. He could imagine how it might look when it moved fully into its human corporation. He imagined soft hair the colour of the moon, and eyes shifting like the blue starry sea. The Architect let himself drift into the star-waters beside the Principality. He dwarfed the smaller being, his wheels shifting and rotating around and above it. The Principality looked up in wonder and smiled.

“I’ve never been this close to a Throne before.”

He said softly, in a voice that sounded like love and fire.

“You’re beautiful.”

The Architect glowed. He let the spinning of his wheels slow, sinking lower into the sea of starstuff so he could rest beside the Principality and watch as it carefully picked up stars, strung galaxies between its fingertips, brushed its palms over nebulae. 

“Do you ever worry.”

It said, apropos of nothing, and then stopped itself abruptly, biting back its next words. 

“Sometimes.”

The Architect ventured, hoping that if he sounded amenable, the Principality might open up a little. It felt lonely, the Architect thought, and the knowledge disturbed him. Angels weren’t supposed to feel lonely and yet he had, himself, felt so at times. 

“The plans for earth, you know. I assume you know of them. There’s a rumour that …”

The Architect knew what he meant. He’d heard the rumour too: That the humans, small fragile things that they were, would find themselves caught in the crossfire of a terrible war. That their precious, beautiful planet, would be scorched and scarred as it was used as a battleground. Who the battle would be between nobody knew, or could even imagine. 

“It doesn’t seem right.”

The Principality continued, carefully twirling a star between its fingers.

“And yet, I mustn’t feel that way, must I? I can’t disobey, after all.”

The Architect looked at the Principality with compassion, his wheels slowly rotating around it now so it could gaze upon it a thousand different ways. Given that Principalities were created to guide and protect humans, of course the thought of them being used in such a way would be painful to consider, the Architect told him.

“I don’t know what I would do.”

The Principality confided.

“If the time came when I had to choose between what felt right and what She said was right. Even thinking that is blasphemy, isn’t it?”

The Principality was worrying at its robes now, radiating conflict. The Architect felt a sharp sense of relief, followed by intense guilt. He’d had difficulty with obedience since his creation. For the first time, he didn’t feel alone in that. But that sense of camaraderie came at the cost of this gentle Principality’s peace of mind. His wheels started moving faster as he considered what to say, his emotions shooting along them like flames until they glowed softly, casting golden light on the Principality. The other angel smiled up at them, one hand fluttering slightly toward the Architect, then quickly dropping back to its side.

“You may touch me.”

The Architect said gently. The Principality smiled and shifted position, drifting closer to the Architect and resting its hand on one of his wheels. The Architect slowed again, so the holy fire was flowing gently over the other angel’s hand. The Principality smiled, and the shore grew lighter for several seconds. The Architect watched in surprise as one of the stars in the sky moved of its own accord, shooting across the blackness and leaving a trail of blazing golden light.

“I think,”

He said slowly, watching the Principality carefully.

“That the best course of action is to do what feels right and true.”

The Principality froze. This was dangerous territory, and they both knew it. But there was something in its eyes, a slight blaze that made the Architect blaze brighter in response. It had heart, and courage. The Architect knew in that second that this was an angel who would stand up for what it believed in; he had simply provided a little nudge in that direction.

“Take one.”

He said quickly as the Principality politely thanked him for showing it where he created stars, and turned to leave. It turned back, confusion rippling through the heavenly-light lines of its form.

“Why?”

The Principality asked. The slight tilt of the Architect’s wheels resembled nothing so much as a shrug.

“To remind you that the truth within you matters. Or because I feel like giving you a gift. Or because who knows if we shall see each other again? Pick your favourite reason.”

The Principality studied the stars carefully, then gently scooped up a newly-created one.

“Would you like to come home with me?”

It asked the star, with such tenderness that the Architect wanted to weep.

“They can live inside you,” he explained to the Principality “our energy is even bigger than theirs, so they simply find a place to rest.”

He ought to know. He was filled with stars. Smiling, the Principality gently tucked the new star into its robes, then stepped closer to the Architect again. The Architect was struck by the sure knowledge that if the Principality could hug him, it would. As it was, it settled for gently passing its hand over one of his wheels again, giving him a smile brighter than any star. Then it was gone, and despite being surrounded by his stars, the Architect felt strangely alone.

* * *

Sometimes Crowley drove the Bentley to a deserted little hamlet on the Dorset coast for the sole purpose of yelling at the sea. When the demonic rage inside him threatened to burn too hard. When Hastur and Ligur were driving him batshit insane. When he felt like if he had to go one more day without telling the fussy, infuriating, smart, fucking GLORIOUS angel that he would happily tear the stars from the sky for him.

The sand had come to expect it. When it heard the Bentley pull up, it braced for one very frustrated demon stalking across it to yell its annoyance into the roaring sea, letting it swallow up the sound.

Sometimes Crowley would stamp along the sand and wonder what made Aziraphale so different to every other angel. He’d been created to obey, just like the rest of them, yet something in him rebelled against their divine plan, and against their distaste of his earthly lifestyle. He did exactly what he pleased. Crowley liked that about him, very much. Had he always been that way, he wondered, or had someone or something encouraged that side of him? Heaven didn’t generally encourage free thinking. Crowley should know.

He wished he remembered more about his time before the fall. He still recognised the stars he’d made, as if the knowledge had been embedded in him, but he barely remembered the process, or who he was in the ancient times when time was new. The last few weeks before the war were vivid enough, but everything else had been erased by a deep fall into boiling sulphur.

After Armageddon decided to thankfully go back to sleep, Crowley thought he’d have less reason to come and shout demonic curses at the ocean. Heaven and hell were (at least temporarily) off their backs. The earth was still merrily sailing around the sun, unaware that it had nearly been so much burning goop.

But could things just be simpler for Crowley? Oh bless it, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? 

Because now, after all that, Aziraphale had decided to do an impression of a prim Victorian miss and act like Crowley was a somewhat unwanted suitor. Every invitation to dinner was met with “not tonight dear boy, the civil war poetry section needs dusting.” Every suggestion of an outing to the theatre was rebuffed with a polite “oh I simply must finish rebinding this Chaucer. It’s feeling very neglected.”

Crowley knew exactly how the book felt.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. He’d hinted, wheedled, outright asked, but Aziraphale just clammed up tighter. After 6000 years, Crowley knew the difference between Aziraphale’s silences. He knew how to tell “if you keep talking I might just concede to do a curse for you while I’m up in Edinburgh” from “if you keep talking than you might as well take another century long nap for as much response as you’ll get.”

When he’d done screaming to the sea about it, Crowley sat down on the sand, idly scooping up a handful of shells and pebbles, twisting and turning them in his fingers. The next time he came to this cove, it would be with Aziraphale. He would always be patient for his angel, as much as he could, but this was ridiculous. He was going to drive back to London, and he wasn’t leaving the bookshop until Aziraphale told him what the heaven was going on in that smart, infuriating head of his.

He turned with a snarl at the crunch of footsteps on the pebbles, on the cusp of turning into something with enough blood and maggots to put whoever it was off the beach for life. He’d set up a shield, hadn’t he? Oh Satan, was he so distracted thinking about the bloody angel that he’d forgotten to …

“Crowley?”

Was he hallucinating? Had the pent-up tension finally fried his neurons?

“What the hell are you doing here, angel?”

“Needed a word with you.”

And oh if that unintentional echo didn’t drag Crowley’s heart out onto the sand and stomp on it a few times for good measure.

“What?”

“It’s come to my attention that I perhaps haven’t been as attentive as I might have been, given everything we lived through.”

“Attentive?” 

Crowley spat, frightening the sand even more than usual.

“Attentive? Aziraphale I swear to anything you like that if I didn’t love you so much I would drive away right now and leave you here.”

“Honestly Crowley, you’re so melodramatic sometimes! It’s only been a week … what did you just say?”

Crowley had always been a tell the truth and shame the devil sort of devil, and so he repeated what he’d said, word for word.

“I love you too.”

It was simple and artless and it made Crowley’s heart flip-flop. Aziraphale carefully stepped over the rough stones at the edge of the beach, until he was standing in front of Crowley. He gently rested his hand against the demon’s chest, smiling at him like he’d brought him the library of Alexandria and his own personal sushi chef.

“Kiss me, you idiot.”

Crowley murmured as he leaned into the angel. Aziraphale obliged (and oh if Crowley didn’t have a few thoughts about the angel’s propensity to obey him), wrapping his arms around Crowley and kissing him slowly and thoroughly.

“What in heaven’s name do we do now?”

He said against the demon, laughing in joy and wonder. Crowley grinned, nipping his lip gently and sliding his hands down from his shoulders to his waist, relishing the feel of holding his angel close at last.

“We go back to your bookshop, angel, and turn the sign to closed for a long, long time.”

* * *

That winter, Crowley was dozing off with his head resting comfortably against Aziraphale’s chest as the angel read to him.

_“I swear, since seeing Your face,_  
_the whole world is fraud and fantasy_  
_The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf_  
_or blossom. The distracted birds_  
_can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare._

_A house of love with no limits,_  
_a presence more beautiful than venus or the moon,_  
_a beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart.”_

“So sappy, angel.”

Crowley teased, but couldn’t keep the delight from his voice. Listening to Aziraphale read love poetry to him frequently led to fingers creeping under clothes and unfastening buttons, the book flung aside in favour of Crowley’s kisses and caresses. This time, though, something was bugging Crowley and he couldn’t rest.

“Angel?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Why did you avoid me for the first week after Armageddon didn’t happen?”

“Ah, that. Well a week isn’t long really dear, and...”

“Angel.”

The firm tone made Aziraphale put down his book, and sigh.

“Oh, alright. I discovered something when we switched bodies, and I didn’t know how best to broach it with you.”

“You still haven’t broached it. Spit it out, Angel.”

“Well, when I was in your body I … found something. Crowley, I think I have one of your stars hidden inside me, somehow. When we switched, it started shimmering and I could feel it pressed under my ribs. I assume it recognised your energy and responded.”

Crowley tried to speak several times, but couldn’t tease any coherent words from his stuttering mouth.

“Could I?”

He paused. Swallowed. Tried again.

“Try to feel it?”

“Oh, Crowley, I wish you could, but as soon as we swapped back I lost the feel of it. That’s why I hesitated to tell you. It seemed cruel to tell you it was there, but be unable to connect you with it in any meaningful way.”

Crowley thought for a long moment. 

“I have an idea.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Aziraphale was looking askance at him as they stood on the windswept sand of Crowley’s favourite cove.

“Yeah, angel. I’m pretty sure it’ll work.”

“Yes dear, so am I. That’s my point. If this works ...”

“Then I’ll be happy. Do you trust me?”

“Well yes, but that’s hardly the point.”

Crowley gave a fond, if exasperated, sigh.

“That’s exactly the point, angel. Trusting me to decide what I need.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, and Crowley knew he’d got the message.

“Right. Swap?”

It was easier the second time. They flowed in and out of each other’s corporations as easily as slipping on a favourite coat. Just moments later Crowley was back in his own form, and Aziraphale was very carefully handing him the star, using a miracle to keep it palm-sized. Crowley cradled it in both hands, gazing at it in wonder.

“Crowley ….”

Aziraphale grasped his upper arms gently.

“Oh, Crowley, are you sure?”

Crowley couldn’t tear his gaze from the star long enough to look at the angel, but he gave a brief nod.

“This way, we can both enjoy it, always.”

With one last look, he raised his hand and the star shot across the sky, finding its place in the cosmos and growing to full size.

“I daresay the humans will have something to say about this, dear boy.”

“Mhm. I might hide it so only we can see it, or I might leave it to baffle them and give them something to talk about. Haven’t decided yet.”

With that, he wrapped an arm around his angel’s waist and walked back to the Bentley with him. As he sat in the driver’s seat, he stole another look at their star, to be sure he’d always know where to find it in the sky. A whisper of sadness trailed across his mind, but it vanished when he looked across at the angel who was now completely his. The star had found its place in the cosmos. And so, at last, had Crowley.

* * *

As the Architect watched the Principality drift away from the shore, he felt a prayer rising in his heart.

“Whatever happens, let me find him again.”

The next thought was quickly hidden.

“I know it’s blasphemy, but I didn’t understand wholeness until now.”

A thread of silver energy rang inside the edge of one wheel, where the principality had touched him, with a clear, honest sound. The Architect felt himself growing warmer, and a word he’d never heard before filled his mind.

 _Home_.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I played a bit fast and loose with angel lore here! I read something about Thrones existing in the heart of creation, and Principalities being tasked with guiding humanity, and ran with it (even though I usually HC pre-fall Crowley as a Seraphim and Aziraphale as a Cherubim.)
> 
> The poem is I Swear, by Rumi.
> 
> Songs I listened to while writing this:
> 
> Cosmic Love (Florence + The Machine)  
> The Fighter (In This Moment)  
> The Book Of Love (Peter Gabriel)  
> Real Love (Bon Jovi)


End file.
